Help!
by SpecialParanoia
Summary: If he couldn't be her Bing Crosby, he'd settle for John Lennon. Contains an OC, could be read as romance. A departure from my usual.


**A/N: **Takes place roughly a few hours after the end of 'To Hell... And Back' - mostly because I wanted this to fit somewhere in the series, and a certain little addition to Reid's wardrobe in 'Nameless, Faceless' and other Season five episodes made it all too perfect. :)

This is a major departure from my usual fare while still keeping in with my music theme- and angst ahoy! This is an idea that has been bugging me for quite some time. Forgive me if it isn't up to par- I have to admit, quality wasn't exactly foremost on my mind. Just wanted to get it out of the noggin.

You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine- despite my best efforts.

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><p><em>(Help!)<em>

_I need somebody_

_(Help!)_

_Not just anybody_

_(Help!)_

_You know I need someone_

_(Help…)_

When a knock sounded from the front door late into the night- _morning?-_ she wasn't surprised.

She'd seen him come into the reading late and lurk in the shadows for the entire affair, only coming forward when she was making her exit, offering a polite 'hello'. Pleasantries were exchanged, he asked how long she'd be in town, then they went their separate ways as though nothing ever happened. As though nothing were _about_ to happen.

They both knew better.

It always went this way, and until one of them had the guts to put an end to it things weren't going to change any time soon. There was a certain amount of comfort that came from their dysfunctional relationship, knowing that the second she made an appearance back in DC he'd be there, knocking on her door long after the city had gone dark, and she'd be there, waiting for him with her hair pulled up the way she knows he liked on these occasions. Comfort in repetition. They sought it time and time again, consequences be damned, and always vowed in their own way that the next time would be different. Next time, they would know better, do the right thing.

As the first knock reverberated through the tiny apartment, she knew tonight wasn't going to be any different. One look at Spencer Reid's face confirmed it.

Comfort in repetition.

There were no words between them- never any words. The door shut with a purposeful click and Spencer's tired, pale, haggard face was instantly within inches of hers, hazel eyes turned away because the good doctor just doesn't _do_ eye contact on the best of days- and these never seemed to be anything but the worst of days.

She took his hand and just held it a moment, both feeling the electricity begin to spark. They'd long since fallen into a routine. No surprises. Routine was the reason talking beforehand became taboo. Talk would come later, sure enough, but talk brought about feeling and logic and reason and _surprise_, and that just wouldn't do. One of the unspoken rules of their meetings, no surprises. One of many. Tonight, Spencer broke that rule.

He surprised the hell out of her, in fact, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry- not that he gave her a chance to be. Spencer broke the rule and surprised her by skipping all the foreplay, their special and careful dance of touch and tease and halfhearted attempts to stop themselves before they went too far, and grabbed her around the waist to pull her close, lips claiming hers with a need that was almost frightening. This was the moment she should be pushing him away and sitting him down to tell him this wasn't right and beg him to _talk_ to her about it, whatever _it_ was. But, as she felt herself picked up and pressed- hard- against the wall, camisole quickly disappearing as those soft lips continued to press against her own, deft fingers slowly un-twirling her hair to let it cascade down around her shoulders, she found she couldn't say no.

It was fast, and hard, and needy on both their parts, just like usual. They were soon spent, shaking and sweating as they held each other up, shirts pooled around their feet like a halo of sin in the dim light of the room. She could feel his hearth thundering in his bare chest and though she couldn't see his face, couldn't bear to open her eyes and break this momentary spell by moving too soon, she just somehow knew that he'd be crying right now if he weren't Spencer fucking Reid.

But, he was.

He _was_ Spencer Reid, and if there was anything Spencer liked in his world it was routine because routine made him feel safe, which is why this arrangement worked… so she and Spencer stood, silent, holding each other for long moments as they calmed outside and in.

Both could, as always, feel when the moment ended and the world shifted back into place, stepping away from each other to gather their clothes at the exact same moment, dressing in silence. Neither were oblivious to the fact that Spencer never really stopped shaking, but they pretended they were. Pretended it was tact that kept their mouths closed and eyes (mostly) averted. Pretending not to notice the way he watched her button his shirt over her own torso, or the way she just happened to look up in time to see her black hair tie slipped over his bony hand with reverence. Pretending it was okay, what they'd just done. What they were still doing.

There was a lot of pretending, tonight.

A lot of pretending as a rule, part of the routine, but tonight in particular there seemed to be so much more. Tonight, they couldn't keep it up. Tonight, they both knew the pretending had to end whether they liked it or not, but that comforting safety of routine was just so hard to break. So they finished dressing in silence and stood looking everywhere but at each other, still very close to one another but for the first time ever feeling miles apart.

Neither were particularly surprised that she managed to gather the strength to speak first.

"This needs to stop, Spencer. We both know it needs to stop."

Spencer continued to stare at the carpet, eyes distant, not saying a thing for several minutes.

"I know," he replied finally, touching the elastic band around his wrist. He shifted, shoulders slouching even though he turned to face her before continuing. "I was going to tell you I love you. I was going… I wanted to talk. About us. I wanted to give us… this- whatever this is, I wanted it to end so that we could have something real. We could make this something… _right_."

"But it's not, Spencer. It's not right. And we both know it can't happen."

"I know," he sighed. "I said that's what I _wanted_. No matter what I tell myself, I know we can't. What I want and what I know are two entirely different things. But… I was going to try, anyway."

"Ever the eternal optimist, aren't you?" she asked wryly, wringing her hands in his shirt. He snorted, and they let another silence fall over them. It wasn't quite as heavy as before, as it ever is, now that they'd finally conceded the truth of the situation.

"It's not healthy, is it? For either of us," Spencer asked, unable to make his voice sound anything but pathetic and weak with longing.

"No," she answered honestly, "it's not." Spencer nodded, tactfully pretending- _more pretending, even in the first honest moment they'd ever shared_- not to notice the way her words trembled.

"I do love you. It wouldn't have been a lie. I love you, and I wish this could be… I wish this could _be_."

"Me too, but it's it enough. You know damn well, Spencer, that wishing isn't enough. Sometimes, love isn't even enough."

"Do _you_?" Spencer asked, eyes suddenly intense.

"Do I know it's not enough?"

"Do you love me? I know you know… _that_- you always have. Better than I did."

"And you're the genius," she smiled, trying hard not to squirm under his gaze. The light button-down suddenly felt heavy on her shoulders. "Yes," she sighed. "Yes, Spencer, I love you. But still, that's just not enough. Not for us. We're too… too messed up to be together. The relationship we have now is proof enough." _The word 'relationship' clearly code for something else, something hinting at emotional detachment and an unhealthy dependence on _routine. "Let's face it- no matter what we want, you'll never be my Bing Crosby and I will never be your Dinah Lee." That put a pained smile on Spencer's face.

In a perfect world, or even just a better one, that would be their song. In a better world, these two souls would have met with light hearts and buoyant spirits, shared sincere smiles across a bookstore and bonded over shared passions, the first kiss a nervous and chaste meeting of lips to the shuffle of an MP3 player that just happened to pick that moment to croon of hopping an ocean liner just to be with Dinah Lee. They would have laughed and marveled that yet again they found something in common because, after all, who doesn't love Bing Crosby. In a perfect world…

In a _better _world, they would not have met in misery and pain, both depressed and floundering, she marveling at how much Spencer identified with her writing and Spencer at her ability to lend voice to a shared pain so perfectly. Their smiles wouldn't have been so dry and full of sad understanding that night when she took his hand and led him back to her apartment, pausing only to press play, for a night of desperate, needy, meaningless sex.

She told him she'd never done anything like that, before. He hadn't, either, and he wasn't sure what to think of himself now that he had. Here, in the real world, he knew he'd never be her Bing Crosby- but he could settle for John Lennon.

The music playing in the background shuffled to a familiar Beatles tune and they smiled grimly at the appropriate selection.

'_When I was younger, so much younger than today_

_I never needed anybody's help in any way._

_But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured_

_Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the door.'_

"If only that were true, huh?" she asked quietly, tone dry and bordering on sarcastic. Spencer shuffled his feet and shrugged, trying to decide if she was right- or, rather, whether he had it in him to admit she was.

"I think…" Spencer started slowly, eyes drawn to the speakers of the player while he carefully thought out his answer. "I think it is- and that's the problem. We entered into this, um… this _arrangement_," he said, an endearing flush rising in his cheeks, "under the guise of 'helping' each other. It's become a routine we can't get out of. We're neither of us in a good place, and we both take advantage of it. I come around, and you open up the door."

She let out a sound halfway between a snort and a sigh, shaking her head.

"While I commend you for your seamless, albeit shameless, use of these lyrics in an otherwise serious conversation, I think you're deliberately missing my point."

"No, I'm not _missing_ your point- just choosing not to acknowledge it in favor of making my own," Spencer corrected. "Do you honestly think I'm wrong?"

"Never said you were. In fact, I think you're exactly right. We're…. _enabling_ each other. That's the word, right? Enabling?" She waited until Spencer gave an affirmative nod, then stepped closer to place a delicate hand on his thin arm before continuing in a voice so soft it barely carried over the upbeat music. "My point was just- _I wish_. I wish it were true- in the _right_ way- just like you. That we were really helping each other. Helping ourselves." She removed her hand and stepped back, standing tall and looking him straight in the eye. "But we're not. And wishing isn't doing a damn thing to make it right."

A long silence stretched between the two, Spencer visibly struggling to find the right words. When he finally opened his mouth to reply, the words that came tumbling out took them both by surprise.

"I'm a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI," he blurted out, speaking rapidly. "We travel all over the country to work wherever a crime has been committed, and as field agents, we see… we see a lot of god-awful things on the job. Serial killers and arsonists and rapists and kidnappers- some of the worst people humanity has to offer, day in and day out. It never ends. We- we have an obligation to remain professional and objective, and knowing what's on the line we can do it. We can't help if we look at a crime scene and fall to pieces, but sometimes…" Spencer trailed off. He began to pace the small room, the shaking in his hands increasing once again. She started to say something, but he cut her off, clearly not finished.

"Eighty-one pairs of shoes we found, at the pig farm. Eighty-one victims. I've never… In the years that I've been doing this, all that I've seen and been through, I've never seen anything like it. And he felt _justified_. Murdering people for scientific research. _Eighty-one people. _I just- I needed to forget." He finally stopped and looked at her, those big hazel eyes filled with agony and a pleading for her to understand. "I needed to stop thinking and just _feel_ something. I've been in this position before and made some really wrong decisions. I've hurt myself and others. I know this isn't right, either, but trust me when I say that this isn't as wrong as choices I've made in the past when desperate to just feel something.

"I just… needed to _feel_."

Spencer watched her watch him in the silence following his emotional tirade. She was clearly trying to hide her feelings and remain calm but Reid wasn't a trained profiler for nothing. He stood watching, appalled, as her pink lips pursed slightly with understanding sadness only to harden into a thin line a split second later, face falling. Her body went rigid, fists clenched, and though she did her best to hide it, Spencer could practically feel the anger, hurt, and betrayal that radiated out of her.

"Well damn, Spencer. You really are some genius," she bit out, voice tight. "So, it's okay to make a habit of taking advantage of another person? As long as you're not hurting yourself or the people you _care_ about, it's fine to use me to make yourself feel better, because hell- I'm just as desperate as you. That's how it is?"

Spencer was shocked, eyes going wide. "No! No, that's not what I sai- that's not what I _meant_. I… meant that I just- I needed… shit," he sighed. His own words were being replayed in his head verbatim, and he could see what it was that set her off. She was right. He'd basically told her that, in his own selfish pursuits, the fact that he was using her didn't matter so long as it helped _him_. Genius, indeed.

He raked his hands through his hair in frustration, turning on his heel to start pacing again.

"You're right," he finally admitted in a hoarse whisper. "I used you. I told myself it was better than using- well, using other… _things_, but it's not.

"I told you I love you, and that wasn't a lie," Spencer hastened to clarify, eyes meeting hers briefly, "but I know that this isn't how you treat anyone that you love, either."

"No," she agreed with a sigh, "you don't. But I'm not innocent in this, either. I'm as much a participant as you; I'm an adult, I could have said no a long time ago. I knew what we were doing wasn't right or fair, but I did it, anyway. Because it made me feel better- even for just one night. The only difference right now is that I never had any illusions about what we were doing. You, apparently, have."

"What else is new?" Spencer joked weakly, not quite able to completely mask his cynicism. She smiled a little, shoulders relaxing as the anger slowly ebbed away to leave only a profound sadness. Spencer's stomach twisted painfully at the knowledge that he was the cause of it, and suddenly the room seemed to close in on him, air too thick to breathe, and he needed to get out.

"You're right- about everything. I'm… I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I- we never should have let it get so far, and I'm sorry that it did. This isn't right. It's not- it's not healthy and it isn't fair to either of us, so I'll just… I'm gonna' go." Spencer stuttered out in a rush, hands twisting and fidgeting just as rapidly, then made a beeline for the door.

She was so stunned by the sudden burst of emotion that Spencer nearly made it out of the apartment before she managed to shake herself out of it, grabbing his arm as he brushed past.

"Spencer- wait," she almost begged. "Please. You don't… you don't have to run away like this."

"Yes I do," he countered, refusing to look her way. "It doesn't matter what either of us say- if I stay here any longer, I don't think I can trust myself to actually do the right thing. I need to just- I have to get out of here now while I can. Please, just… Just let me go while I'm still convinced it's the right thing to do. For both of us."

She floundered for a moment, feeling it was more important than ever to say exactly the right thing before he walked out of her life for good. When the perfect words refused to make themselves known, she settled for the sentiment, instead.

"But…" she started softly, "it's cold out there, tonight. You'll freeze in just your undershirt." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, hoping he would understand. "You need to take care of yourself."

Spencer's lips curled in the first sincere smile he'd felt in a very long time, reaching to grasp her hand and pull it gently but firmly from his arm as he looked into her clear green eyes one last time.

"I always do," he promised. Then, in a rare display of affection, he brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her fingers. "Take care, my Dinah Lee."

In seconds, the hallway stood empty and quiet but for the sound of soft music floating out from beneath a closed apartment door.

_And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,_

_My independence seems to vanish in the haze. _

_But every now and then I feel so insecure,_

_I know that I just need you like I've never done before._

_Help me if you can, I'm feeling down_

_And I do appreciate you being 'round._

_Help me get my feet back on the ground..._

_Won't you please, please, help me? _

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><p><strong>AN:** So... there you have it. For better or worse, at least it's out of my head. (Did you catch the accessory I was talking about?) Would be willing to try a sequel if anyone likes. Otherwise, I'll- hopefully- have one or two other pieces up soon. _  
><em>


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